Loving You, Needing This
by yaoifangirlHolly
Summary: Because both men were so hot in Lost In Austen, couldn't resist trying a litte Bingley/Darcy. Will do more if it's popular. Sexual themes. Slash.


**Disclaimer: I do not own Lost in Austen or Pride and Prejudice they are owned by ITV and Jane Austen respectively.**

**Story: Just some shameless Bingley/Darcy slash as whilst I am strictly a Elizabeth/Darcy and Jane/Bingley girl, the two men who played Darcy and Bingley in Lost in Austen were too hot for me not to attempt a slash fic. **

It wasn't until he was drunk that it finally happened. One night at a ball.

Charles Bingley stumbled out of the hall and into the cold night air, choking down lungfuls of it as he leaned against a balcony, the stone icy to the touch.

He had to stop this. The room was full, full to bursting of beautiful, charming young ladies all happy to dance with him. So why, why could he not pull his thoughts away from Fitzwilliam Darcy? Why did the unholy urge to just pull his friend to him and press his lips furiously against his own not leave him? A soft sob burst from his lips at the acknowledgement, and he ran his fingers restlessly through his honey brown hair. Curses. Even the drink he had downed all night had not numbed these urges.

"Ah, Charles, there you are."

He turned to see the object of his desire gazing evenly at him. All curled brown hair and smouldering expression.

Damn it all.

"I believe there were some young ladies who had wished to dance with you," Darcy commented, stepping forth to stand beside Bingley on the balcony. "Yet you do not look in the mood to entertain the idea."

"Darcy," Charles choked out, more emotion in his voice than he could hold back. It had to be the alcohol holding him back, had to be. "I cannot turn my mind from…I cannot stop thinking of an unholy union…"

Darcy turned to him, brow furrowed. "I do not comprehend your meaning…"

"Tell me," Charles cried, grabbing onto Darcy's shoulders, "how to…how to stop feeling this way."

"What way?" Darcy had barely asked when Charles stepped forward, gravel crunching beneath his feet, to force his lips up against Darcy's. It was only a matter of seconds, then he stepped back, lost in the horror of what he had done.

"Charles…" Darcy was lost in shock. "You cannot mean…"

Face crumpling with tears, Charles turned, and sprinted off into the night. He could not face what he had done, not face Darcy's reaction. It was too much.

He wanted to get as far away as possible, but his sister wanted to stay the night at Pemberley so reluctantly he retired to an unoccupied room, praying for his drunken stupor to render him unconscious, but guilt and angst gnawed at him. It must have been almost midnight, and his frenetic thought process had finally dulled when the door opened and he sat bolt upright. It was almost black, and all he could see was a figure in a loose white shirt approaching.

Darcy?

Good heavens, had he come to smother Charles in his sleep?

Charles struggled to sit up, recoiling backwards in fear. "I-I'm so sorry, Darcy, I didn't mean to…"

By this point, Darcy had reached him on the bed, and in the dim light, Charles was amazed to see a soft tender smile quirking his mouth upwards. "Shhh," he soothed, a finger on Charles's bottom lip. Charles's mouth fell open a little in shock as the finger dropped to Darcy's side.

"Please don't let my words ruin our friendship," Charles begged without hesitation. "I-I wasn't in my right mind, you have to understand." He tried to force a laugh but it dried up with his uneasiness.

"So it was not me you spoke of having these feelings for?"

Darcy's every word was laced so completely with hushed seriousness that Charles couldn't reply, only gaze wide eyed at his friend. Darcy met his look firmly, and soon he was lost in brown eyes, that seemed to be nearing him. His body started a little with a not unpleasant shock of Darcy's lips pressing into his own, and he bit his lip when Darcy withdrew, a hand moving to grip his arm, eyes boring darkly into his soul.

"You feel it too?" he managed to say, with a sharp laugh of incredulous disbelief.

Darcy broke the gaze a moment to return a small nod, and then met his eyes once more, the backs of his fingers moving to skim down his friend's cheek, no more than a butterfly's touch. "Charles," he breathed softly, and then moved to capture his lips again, with a ferocity that indicated he wanted to take possession of Charles Bingley's very soul through every touch and caress.

They tore apart a second to take in air, both flushed with the acknowledgement they had expressed.

With a smile, Charles let his hand trail steadily down Darcy's arm to take his. "Will you stay? Tonight?"

Darcy mirrored his expression, and dipped his head. "There is nowhere I would rather be."

But his hands shook dreadfully when it came to removing Darcy's shirt. "S-Sorry," he stammered, "I-I am somewhat unaccustomed to this…"

Darcy too was every inch the clumsy and unsure, but he took Charles's hand firmly, reassuring himself as much as his newfound lover. "Do not…be afraid," he urged him, lowering his head to kiss the hand softly, until Charles melted into a slightly less anxious state. Quickly and efficiently ridding himself of the shirt, and then Charles's with a gently coaxing expression, he then went to apply a series of kisses down the side of Charles's neck, each one stronger and harder until he had reached the collarbone and his now languid eyed lover was unconsciously bucking into his body slightly with desire.

Realising he had given away the proof of his arousal, Charles turned to gaze achingly up at Darcy, who swallowed in spite of himself. "Is this article of lust the result of my ministrations, Charles?"

"Forgive me," Charles said breathlessly.

"It is I who owes the apologies," Darcy replied, running his finger gently along Charles's lower lip and marvelling at its softness. "If you have suffered as many unrelieved nights as I."

The man let a delicious shudder consume him as Darcy's eyes travelled downwards, and his hand followed to release the man from his breeches. Charles quickly returned the favour until finally they were free of all restrictions; intoxicatingly naked on the bed.

Unable to hold back the ever faster beating of his heart, and painfully conscious of his exposed excitement, Charles fought the hotness consuming his face. "What now?" Barely a whisper.

"I believe I would take you from behind…but I do not wish to inflict any pain on you," Darcy muttered.

There was a horrible silence with just the breathing of the two men, and for one moment Charles thought it was all over, until Darcy murmured, with all the inflections of an embarrassed man. "Do you possess any kind of oil?"

Stretching over from the bed, Charles impatiently yanked a drawer open and produced a bottle of oil intended for massage use. Awkwardly, he bent over as he anticipated Darcy instructing him, and gasped at the unusual but surprisingly pleasurable sensation of a finger, wet with oil, pressing up just into the entrance of his passage. "Ahhh-ah," he gasped out.

"Is that not agreeable?" Darcy said in a low voice, ready to retract immediately.

"Oh no, it's…perfectly agreeable," Charles husked incoherently and Darcy smiled behind him, resuming the action to prepare him for what was to come.

He was as gentle as possible, and Charles's intoxicated state made him a little more relaxed than he would have been otherwise, but he still cried out from the pain. Sweat streaked his body, and Darcy held him closer into an embrace from behind, a silent apology for the pain.

As he fell asleep with his smouldering lover's arms around him, Charles Bingley didn't think he had ever been happier.


End file.
